


The Youngster's Guide to Etiquette

by Hana_Noiazei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: '50s AU, BelLiech, DenNor, Drabbles, Finishing School AU, FranSwiss, Genderbending, HongIce, HunAus, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, Nyotalia, SuFin, don't read if you want a plot, gerita - Freeform, lietpol, nyo!HunAus, nyo!LietPol, nyo!dennor, seriously, there is literally no structure to this fic, there really is no plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 14,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22767769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hana_Noiazei/pseuds/Hana_Noiazei
Summary: Does the bread plate go on the left or the right? Is the Sussex Slant just a little too informal? Does one walk putting down the heel first or the toe? And - oh, goodness - how does one even use a handkerchief?Fear not, my friends! The Institut Belchamp curriculum holds the answers to all those questions, and all students at Belchamp will know soon enough. Our youngsters from all around the world will know how to behave, sit, stand, walk and speak just so, and, once you are finished reading about their education, so will you.
Relationships: Belgium/Liechtenstein (Hetalia), Female Austria/Male Hungary (Hetalia), Female Denmark/Female Norway (Hetalia), Female France/Switzerland (Hetalia), Female Hong Kong/Iceland (Hetalia), Female Lithuania/Female Poland (Hetalia), Finland/Sweden (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 63





	1. Messages from the Head Students

**Author's Note:**

> New names:  
> Fleur Bonnefoy - nyo!France

Dear students,

It is my greatest honour to welcome you all to Institut Belchamp. We are an illustrious school, who, for two hundred years, have trained, educated and nurtured only the kindest, cleverest and most well-mannered young men and women, and I am sure that you will leave our gates one of them.

Institut Belchamp is the only co-educational and international finishing school as of today; our students from every corner of the world have never failed to adapt in our all-inclusive campus. No matter if one is from Egypt or Japan, Cuba or France, you will find our school a home away from home.

As head of the Student Council, I have been entrusted to ensure that all new students are properly integrated into student life. Should you ever require assistance or advice, the Prefects and I are always happy to help.

Good luck, and I await your arrival on the first day of school.

Most sincerely,  
Arthur Kirkland  
Head Boy

~~

Dear students,

Welcome to Institut Belchamp! Whether you’re a first-year awaiting the start of your Belchamp education or an older student transferring from another school, it is my mission to make you feel at home.

The rigorous training and classes that you will experience might feel daunting at first, but keep in mind that your fellow classmates will be there you support and guide you every step of the way. I remember being a little fourteen-year-old attending my first class on posture - now, that was something terrifying! But three years later, I can safely look back and say that it was all worth it.

It is, of course, natural if you are nervous. Though you may enter the campus weighed down with dread, surely come July you will leave it with your head held up high, and of course with perfect posture and gait. But until then, never hesitate to seek out the Prefects or myself if you need anything.

Good luck! Here’s to a new school year.

Best wishes,  
Fleur Bonnefoy  
Head Girl


	2. Messages from the Prefects' Board

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New names:  
> Marlene Edelstein - nyo!Austria  
> Julia Suet Wing Wang - nyo!Macau  
> Olga Plisetskaya - Ukraine

Five Prefects have been appointed from the third and fourth years to aid us in maintaining a disciplined and safe school environment. Here, we shall allow them to give their greetings and best wishes to the student body.  
\- Arthur Kirkland and Fleur Bonnefoy

~

It is my greatest honour to be granted the role of Prefect, and I look forward to helping my fellow classmates. I understand that being a Prefect will come with many responsibilities, but I am willing to take on as many of those as I can to make Belchamp a better place for us all.  
\- Marlene Edelstein, Third-Year

~

Never in a million years had I thought that I’d be appointed a Prefect! I honestly have no idea what Headteacher Vargas saw in me that made her make this decision, but I’ll do my best to live up to her - and all of your - expectations. To all the students about to start their first year here, I wish you the best of luck! I’ll always be around if you need anything.  
\- Tino Väinämöinen, Third-Year

~

As one of the students chosen to be a Prefect this coming school year, I promise to treat everyone in the school fairly and to do everything within my ability to make sure that everyone gets along. Being a Prefect will not be easy, but this is a challenge I’m willing to take on. Never forget, I will be in the Prefects’ Room outside of class and happy to help.  
\- Julia Wang, Third-Year

~

Hello, everyone! I’ll be one of your Prefects this year. New or old, first-year or fourth, I’ll take care of all of you the same. You heard me; whether you need help with homework, making friends or just want to chat, I’ll gladly assist you! Just pop by the Prefects’ Room and sit with us for a while.  
\- Olga Plisetskaya, Fourth-Year

~

Along with four other classmates, I will be working alongside the Head Students in enforcing school rules, ensuring positive student-to-student relationships and other duties. Our school motto is “provide with poise”, and I aim to do just that. I will give my all to the school and my classmates, and hopefully I’ll be able to do so with elegance and politeness.  
\- Yao Wang, Fourth-Year


	3. New Students

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names:  
> Sandor Héderváry — nyo!Hungary  
> Katherine Vargas — nyo!Romano  
> Milda Laurinaite — nyo!Lithuania  
> Alice Kirkland — nyo!America  
> Charlotte Bonnefoy — nyo!Canada

“What a year! Can you be _lieve_ it, Kate? The younger siblings of _both_ the Head Boy and Head Girl, _and_ the heiress to some famous hotel in Japan are among our first years.” Sandor leaned back into his seat, crossing his legs and repeating, “can you be _lieve_ it!”

Katherine closed her eyes; sometimes she wondered why she deigned to hang around Sandor, brutish, country-bumpkin Sandy Héderváry who her grandmother somehow decided to accept. “Indeed I can.” 

“But _how_?”

“Because we have had better!” She lurched up in her seat. “Look, in our year we have that prickly daughter of a children’s author, and a year down we have that telephone boy and the daughter to some fashion designer.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “We’ve never been stranger to the rich and famous.”

Sandor rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He rested his muddy boots on her desk, and her hands, still neatly holded in her lap, clenched into fists and itched to push them off. “Kate, you ought not to explode like that.”

“If I ought not to explode, you ought not to leave your filthy boots on my desk. What would good, polite Prefect Edelstein think of your behaviour?”

That got him. Sandor put his feet down, sheepishly brushing soil off the desk. “Right. Well, anyway, I caught wind of some of the things Kirkland was talking about the other day.” He leaned in. “Want to hear?”

“Go on.”

“The second years will have a transfer student, possibly in mid-October.” He smiled conspiratorially. “One Milda Laurinaite. Do you think she’s someone interesting?”

She shrugged. “Never heard of her.”

“Neither have I. But I’m sure she’ll fit right in, don’t y — “

The door banged open, and in stumbled a pair of girls. The taller one, with twin plaits of golden hair and bottle-bottom glasses, straightened up immediately. Her uniform, Katherine noticed, was a little too big for her.

The shorter girl dawdled for a moment more before standing up straight, shaking out her mane of blonde curls. “Good morning, my fellow people,” she said, voice so rigid it was almost laughable, “might you be capable of informing me the locations of — “

“Excuse me,” the other interrupted, hiding a giggle, “where are the first-year dormitories?”

Both Katherine and Sandor stared in silence for a moment. Then Katherine cleared her throat. “Downstairs. And by the way, the girl’s dorms are on the other side of the school.”

The taller girl elbowed her friend. “I told you!” She whispered, “I _told_ you our dorms were in the east wing, Alice, and did you listen?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Alice grabbed the other girl’s arm and began to back out of the room.

“Alice!”

The door opened again, and in stepped none other than the newly-appointed Head Boy. Arthur took his sister by the shoulder and dragged her out the room. “I cannot believe you, dragging poor Charlotte around the campus like an overworked spaniel, and getting her lost, too, you nitwit, I...”

Arthur poked his head back in and tried for an apologetic smile, while Allison’s protests were still audible. “I’m so sorry for the nuisance, Sandor. You too, Katherine.”

The trio’s voices disappeared down the hallway, and Katherine sighed. “I suppose that was Allison Kirkland, his little sister?”

“Correct.” Sandor stared back out the door, where Arthur, Alice and Charlotte had already disappeared. “I wonder if she’s anything like him.”


	4. This Is It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names:  
> Louis Bonnefoy — nyo!Monaco

“First name?”

“Louis.”

“Pardon?” The Prefect squinted down at the list. “Did you say Albus? I don’t see an Albus on the list.”

He repeated himself.

“Francis?” He ran a finger down the list of names. “No Francis either.”

“Louis,” he said for the third time, “L-O-U-I-S.”

“Oh!” The Prefect picked up his pencil and made a check-mark by his name. “I’m so sorry, Louis, I must be a little tired. And your last name, I assume, is Bonnefoy?”

He nodded.

“All right.” He smiled. “You wouldn’t happen to be our Head Girl’s little brother, would you?”

Ah, there it was; the inevitable reference of his sister whenever his last name came up. “That’s me.”

“It might be a lot to live up to, but don’t let the expectations get to you.” The Prefect winked, adding cheekily, “and I’ve seen Fleur in some embarrassing moments, so there’s not much pressure.”

The conversation was getting more and more awkward with every second that passed. Louis decided to end it with a quick, “Yes, thank you.”, and hefted up his suitcase, making his way down the hall. He crossed around three doors before realising that he’d forgotten to ask the Prefect what room he’d stay in.

Deciding to leave his suitcase where it was, Louis shuffled back to the desk in front of the hallway. “What room will I be staying in?”

“Room number five. The number will be on the door, nice and bold.”

He thanked the Prefect again and once again dragged his suitcase (oh, Papa would kill him if he saw those scratch marks!) down the hall until he reached a door with a golden **5** on it. Louis reached one hand to clutch the cool doorknob, and squeezed it once. 

“Well,” he said to himself, “this is it.”

He pushed it open.


	5. This Is It [II]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New names:  
> Roland de Vries — Luxembourg  
> Eva de Vries — Belgium  
> Abel de Vries — Netherlands

His earlier fiasco with the absent-minded Prefect had made sure he wouldn’t be the first one in the room. There was already another boy claiming the fancy wooden bed on the left, shoving piles of unfolded clothes into drawers.

Not entirely sure how to greet him, Louis settled for making his way toward the only other unoccupied bed in the room and setting his suitcase (the thing was starting to hurt his arms) at the foot of it. Then, before he could unlatch it and start unpacking himself, the boy turned around.

“Oh!” He flicked away a lock of golden hair that was falling into his eyes, peering at Louis curiously. “Good morning. I don’t believe I got your name.”

_That’s because I never said it,_ he almost replied. But that was rude, and being rude in a finishing school of all places would be like setting something on fire on a snowy day, so Louis said instead, “good morning. My name is Louis Bonnefoy.” He probably sounded stupidly stilted.

“Roland de Vries.” Roland crossed the room and extended a hand toward him. “A pleasure to meet you, Bonnefoy.”

Louis hated it when people called him “Bonnefoy”; he was too often mistaken for Fleur or Charlotte. He forced a jovial smile and shook Roland’s hand. “Please, just call me Louis. If you call me Bonnefoy outside this room, my sisters might come running instead.”

“Your sisters? You mean...” 

_Here it comes,_ Louis thought.

“Oh! Fleur Bonnefoy, am I right?” He looked quite proud of himself for remembering. “My older siblings have told me all about her. And the other one is...”

“Charlotte,” Louis replied. “My twin sister. And, uh, you have older siblings?”

“Unfortunately.” Roland went back to unpacking. “My older sister, Eva, is in the year above us. And my brother, Abel, is in the same year as the Head Boy and Head Girl. I’m sure he means no offence, but he says that Fleur is quite stuck-up and dramatic.”

“Well, he’s right.”

Roland snorted, then quickly covered his mouth to muffle it. “Is he now? I hope you won’t tell Fleur to give me a demerit for saying that.”

“I won’t, I promise.” He finally got around to flinging his suitcase open and pulling out books and clothes. “Most likely, she’ll be off trying to win the heart of some poor unsuspecting student. She was gushing about some boy all summer.”

“Oh, dear.”

Louis pulled an apron out and hung it up. Oh dear, indeed.


	6. Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New names:  
> Erika Zwingli - Liechtenstein  
> Pyotr Plisetskiy - nyo!Belarus

“Arthur!”

That was the only warning he received before the door swung open, slamming against the wall and very narrowly missing his framed tapestry. Fleur stood in the doorway, the glint in her eyes telling Arthur all too well that he was soon to be roped into something idiotic.

“Bonnefoy,” he snapped back. “You’d think that after three years at this blasted school, you would understand how to open a door.”

Fleur wasted no time in draping herself over his bed. “Oh, Arthur, _you_ would think that after three years of knowing me, you’d use my first name instead of my last.”

He sighed. “All right, Fleur, why are you here?” She opened her mouth to speak before he held a hand up. “Hold it. Let me guess.” Arthur went through all the reasons why his acquaintance had barged into his room and swooned in the past. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

“ _Another girl_?” Arthur threw his hands up. “After last year when I caught you snoggin’ Miss de Vries in the kitchens of all places with a hand down her skirt, you’re chasing another lass?” He was losing more composure by the second. “Who you’ll also proceed to snog and try to - “

“It’s a boy this time.”

He nearly kicked a hole through the wall. “It’s a boy!” He repeated. “Oh, goodness, the apocalypse is nigh. Which one is it?” Fleur didn’t answer, allowing him to guess. “Mister de Vries? Mister Beilschmidt? Hédérváry?”

“Marlene Edelstein would kill me,” Fleur muttered.

He ignored her. “Mister Plisetskiy? Von Bock?” Arthur began to pace. “Väinämöinën?”

“Wrong, wrong and wrong.” Fleur examined her fingernails. “Dear Arthur, half the boys you mentioned are spoken for and the other half are either too young or not my type. Abel is too tall, Pyotr is too cold and Eduard is too witty.”

“Then who is it!”

“Zwingli.”

Arthur kicked the wall, though it did nothing but hurt his foot. He cleared his throat and said, as calmly as he could, “you come into my dorm, swooning on my bed like a Renaissance painting and inform me that you fancy Basch Zwingli, out of all the gentlemen in this fine establishment?”

“ _Oui_.”

“ _Why?_ He’s always so quiet and manages to escape every conversation he’s ever been involved with, he only speaks up to break fights, and… and…” What else did he know about the pricky third-year? “He’s so reclusive!”

Fleur sat up straight. “Zwingli’s sweet, all right? You know, his younger sister is starting her first year.”

“You mean Erika?”

“That’s the girl. I was taking Charlotte to her room, you see, and I saw him fussin’ over Erika all the way ‘til she was all settled in! He was carrying her suitcase along with his, telling her that if anyone was ever unkind to her, she’d better tell him, then helping her unpack, and making her bed, and stayin’ until her roommate showed up.” She sighed. “See, he can be a sweetheart when he wants to be.”

“Last year he chased you out of the archery range with a handful of arrows.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. Fleur had that dreamy look on her face whenever she fancied someone, and suddenly Arthur felt quite sorry for Basch.


	7. Lecture Upon Lecture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New names:  
> Abby Ka Yu Wang - nyo!Hong Kong  
> 

“When you sit down at your desk, do not rest your head on your hand. And do not stare out the window. No staring, swearing, glaring, or any other words ending with -aring. I don’t know.” Yao tapped their desk for emphasis. “Understand?”

Abby stared at her shoes. “’fraid not.”

“No!” They glared at her, violating their own rule. “You _have_ to understand, or you will be thrown into detention on the first day of class. They do not tolerate poor manners here.”

She crossed her arms, leaning down on her sibling’s desk and stretching her arms in a way she was certain would give Yao a fright. “So? I couldn’t care less if they gave me a detention, I want to be _out_ of here.”

“You do not! Abby, you are going to do your very best to behave, or heavens help me, I will - “

“Drag me back to Hong Kong myself?” She yawned. “That would be nice.”

Yao swelled, marching to stand in front of her. “Elbows off the table!”

“At home, you would blow if my elbows weren’t on the table.”

“It is different here!” They squinted at her. “Here, there can be no elbows on the table, especially not during meals.” Their accent was growing by the second. “And you must sit how the teachers tell you to.”

“And how’s that?”

“They will tell you,” they snapped. “Oh, goodness, my brain is still back in Hong Kong. I’m tired.”

She looked at Yao. “Take a nap, won’t you. There’s still a couple of hours ‘til dinner, and you’ll save Julia and I that sour attitude.”

They said in horror, “and leave my room with messy hair?”

‘WHO GIVES A RAT’S ASS ABOUT YOUR DAMN HAIR?’ Abby wanted to scream. She held her tongue and replied, “well, you have a hairbrush, don’t you? Just use that. Now, I’m going to go back to my room.” 

Before Yao could reply, she got up, and, stomping her feet as loudly as possible (she heard them groan behind her), marched in a very unladylike fashion out the room.


	8. Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New names:  
> Linnea Grieg - nyo!Norway  
> Haraldur "Harald" Grieg - Iceland

“I see you have unpacked.” Linnea crossed her legs, perched on the rickety wooden desk on the right side of the room. “I’m surprised. At home, your room’s awfully disorganised.”

Her brother glared at her while smoothing out his bedspread. “And I see you’re not sitting like a lady. Can’t believe three years of etiquette training still hasn’t made its mark.”

She tilted her legs just so, resting her feet at the footboard of Harald’s bed. “There we go, a Sussex Slant. Now we can write to Ma and tell her that all that money she spent all went to teaching me how to tilt my legs.”

“So even you think this ‘finishing school’ thing is silly.” Harald pushed her feet off. “Oh, I could be in America, maybe, having fun and making friends with people all ‘round the world, but _no_. I’m here, learnin’ how to fold napkins and balance trays and set tables like some butler!”

Linnea hopped off the desk and sat down on the bed next to Harald. “You want to travel the world, little brother,” she said. “I know that. You might not like it, but Belchamp can help with that. Ev’ry country has its own idea of politeness. Why, what we think is polite here might be scandalous somewhere else.”

“And will I get to learn how to behave in other countries here?”

“Of course. First, you’d have to learn posture and table-setting and all those, but you will.” Linnea pinched his cheek. 

Harald dodged her fingers, changing the subject, “have you written to Maren yet?”

That was enough to make Linnea freeze. A slight flush began to travel across her cheeks. “Sent the letter half an hour ago. The teachers must’ve thought I was mad, already writing home on the first day.” 

“You miss her, don’t you?”

“No.” She shook her head and stood up abruptly. “Now. Let’s go to the library, I’m sure you’d like to read something.”


	9. Guidance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New names:  
> Erika Zwingli - Liechtenstein

“Walk briskly, do not run, and always keep your back straight while doing so. Getting from one place to another shouldn’t give you back pain.”

New shoes clicking against the worn wooden floor, Erika chased after Basch as he went through a hallway. Her brother continued talking. “When we get to the dining hall, look for the table with your placard and set it aside, do not put the card on the floor.” 

Erika had to weave through a group of students to keep her brother in sight. “Brother, slow down - “

He paused, turning around to look at Erika. “Are you all right?”

“Don’t walk so quickly, please.” She sped up to try and reach him, one hand fiddling with the ribbon at the end of her braid. “My shoes are so loose I can feel them about to fall - oh!” Erika squeaked when her ribbon fluttered off.

She managed to pick it up from off the floor before somebody stepped on it, and shrank against the wall to retie the ribbon. Once it was back in place, Erika looked up only to find that Basch was nowhere to be seen.

“Basch?” She pushed through a group of boys. “Brother? Where are you? _Basch_?”

She still couldn’t find him when she reached the end of the hallway, where practically the entire school was trying to fit down the pair of winding staircases that lead to the dining hall. Somebody elbowed Erika in the side as they passed, another person nearly knocked her over. 

The conversation around her sounded deafening and the crowd was suffocating. She covered her ears and tried not to run back to her dorm.

Somebody tapped Erika on the shoulder and she jumped.

“Oh dear,” a voice said from behind, “I didn’t startle you, did I?”

She turned around. A pretty older girl was looking at her, smiling kindly. “I’m sorry if I did,” the girl continued, “you looked lost, and I just wanted to help.”

“Oh.” Erika blinked. “Thank you, I just lost my brother and all the noise scared me, that’s all.”

The girl walked her towards one of the staircases, reassuringly wrapping a hand around her. “First year?”

She nodded.

“You’ll find your way soon enough. Last year, I was too shy to ask for directions and somehow ended up in the teachers’ room for my first lesson. You’ll be fine, er...”

“Zwingli,” Erika supplied. “My name is Erika Zwingli.”

“Eva de Vries.” Eva took her hand off Erika’s shoulder when they arrived at the dining hall, and Erika couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. “I stay in room thirteen, so if you need any help with work or anything, just knock on my door.”

She winked and walked away, leaving Erika to find her own table.


	10. Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New names:  
> Gretel Beilschmidt - nyo!Prussia

“TONI!”

The door slammed open. Ludwig massaged his ears and winced as his sister shouted again, “TONI! Toni, you ignoramus, I’m right here! That’s Linnea’s room, do you want to get chased out with a broom?

Across the corridor, Gretel’s friend jumped away from the door dramatically and ran into her room. “Oh, I was wondering why the German sounded funny.”

“Linnea doesn’t even speak German.” Gretel crossed her arms and put her shoes on the opposite bed, a few inches away from where Ludwig was sitting. He averted his eyes and hoped his sister’s roommate wouldn’t make too big a fuss about it. “Anyway, did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

Gretel smirked, which usually meant she’d do something chaotic in the new future. “Fleur’s got herself a new crush.”

“A new one so soon?” Antonio threw himself onto Gretel’s bed. “The new semester’s barely started for two weeks.”

Ludwig nearly fell off the bed when Gretel crossed her legs (in a Cambridge Cross, which was impressive) loudly. “Hey, has that ever stopped her? Fleur’s had, what? Seven flings over the span of three years? She sees ‘em early, leaves ‘em early.”

Antonio leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Who is it this time?”

Before Gretel could reply, the door swung open again and a small navy-blue blur staggered in. “Luddy did you know I was running across the archery range to get to the fencing circle for training and Zwingli was there and he whacked me with a bow? Then Fleur showed up with her big shiny Head Girl badge and I thought she was going to give him a warning at least but she didn’t! Whenever Fleur doesn’t even give a warning to a person that means she wants to rail them so does that mean she wants to rail Zwingli?”

Ludwig blinked. “Did you just say that with one breath?”

“How do you know what ‘rail’ means?” Antonio said.

“ZWINGLI!?” Gretel jumped to her feet, nearly kicking him in the face in the process. “Fleur’s got her eyes on Zwingli this year!? Oh, my, Heavens help me, out of all the guys she could’ve picked, she chose him?”

Antonio shrugged. “She’s always enjoyed a challenge.”

Feliciano casually pushed Antonio off the bed so he could sit next to Ludwig. “Last year there was Olsson and Irwin and De Vries, I can’t believe Fleur got over them so quickly! Ooh, ooh, Ludwig, how long do you think she and Zwingli will last?”

“Uh...” He looked to Gretel for help.

“I’d say five months at most.” She grabbed Antonio and began to haul him out of the room. “Hey, Toni, let’s go talk to Hédéváry, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear about this, also I’m sure Marlene is there too. You know, she was complaining last night about having to welcome the new student who’s coming next month, that girl who has to travel by train apparently, and...”

The door closed. Gretel’s chattering was swiftly replaced by Feliciano’s yammering. Ludwig rubbed his temples, and tried not to think about a new classmate and if she’d be a headache too.


	11. To Agitate The Gravel

Talking with the best friend you used to have a crush on can often be awkward, but it's even more so when you're talking about the girl who may or may not have her eyes on you.

Such is the case as Basch ripped arrows out of the target he was practicing on. brushing hay off the sharp, glinting metal arrow-tips while Marlene trailed behind him. "I admit, what I did to Vargas that day was wrong; I usually try not to get into fights. You know that, Lene."

"Of course I do." Marlene brushed a few patches of hay off her skirt, nose wrinkling in distaste. "In fact, I remember last year when Gretel got into a fistfight with Sandor and, despite being right in front of them and completely capable of breaking up the fight, you decided to study while the two of them tried to break each others' faces."

He crossed his arms. "I had an international protocol test that afternoon. But that isn't the point. The point is, I lost my temper and hit Vargas with my bow, yes? Bonnefoy happened to be walking past and saw me, and of course she came to intervene. But she let me off with nothing but a 'don't do it again'. Usually, she at least gives a _warning_ , if not a detention."

The shiny white Prefect's badge on Marlene's right pocket shone in the sunlight, and she shrugged. "Even as a Prefect, Bonnefoy was far more lenient than Kirkland, and maybe she was just feeling nice."

Basch pulled out the last of the arrows and placed them in his quiver. "I thought so, too. But then afterwards, she winked at me."

"Bonnefoy winks at everyone."

"Yes, but after that she's been treating me differently." He picked up his bow and slung it over his shoulder, adding, "for the last two weeks, Bonnefoy has stopped me in the middle of the corridor, asking me how my day was and how Erika's doing. I've only tolerated the questions because of her promise to look out for Erika in case something bad happens, but do you think she's up to somethin'?"

Marlene suddenly looked away from him, pursing her lip. After a while, she asked, "do you remember Eva de Vries?"

"She's a second year, I think. Is she the one with brown hair and green eyes, and wears a green headband?"

"That's the one." Marlene helped him set his quiver down, then they made their way back to the school building. "She also dated Bonnefoy a bit last year. Before Eva agreed to go on a date with her, she did the exact same thing - wink at her, shower her with praise and all that, even though she never gave her the time of day before that. Then she left Eva after Kirkland walked in on them in the midst of an intense make-out in the kitchens."

He pushed the door open with a little more force than necessary, causing a pair of startled first years to squeak. "So what you're trying to tell me is that Bonnefoy's trying to get me to go on a date with her, and we'll seem like we're going steady for a good while before I get clutched by her?"

"Pretty much."

"Nuts." There weren't any more doors for him to slam open, so Basch settled for clicking the heels of his shoes as loudly as possible. "Oh, _nuts_."

The two of them reached a split end in the corridor. Basch went left, intending to return to his dormitories, and Marlene turned right. He turned around, "hey, Lene, where're you going?"

"To the headteacher's office," she called back. "I'm to receive a short briefing before the new student arrives tomorrow. Apparently, she might be unused to our curriculum and the atmosphere here, as she wasn't, in the Headteacher's words, 'raised in an upper-class household like most of the student body'. I do hope she knows the basics of etiquette, though."

Bonnefoy was around the corner, deep in conversation with the Head Boy. Basch crouched low, mouthed 'good luck' to Marlene, and took off power-walking (Heavens forbid a Prefect stop him and inform him that running was unbecoming) towards his room.


	12. From Rags to Riches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New names:  
> Evelina Galante - nyo!Latvia

Milda had only been at her new school for half an hour, but she’d already made enough mistakes to establish her reputation as an absolute savage.

First, she’d dropped her suitcase on the footman’s toes after arriving in front of the campus, then she’d gone into the school building from the wrong entrance and had to haul her suitcase halfway across the courtyard to enter the right way. Then, as she was speaking to the headteacher, she’d sneezed on her embroidered tablecloth and knocked over her pen-stand. And finally, when a Prefect showed up to lead her to her rooms, Milda had gotten so nervous she forgot how to speak English.

At least the Prefect seemed nice enough, even if she looked like a princess. The elegant, ebony-haired girl had introduced herself as Marlene Edelstein, but had not said a word after that as she click-clacked down the corridor. Milda did her best to catch up, still dragging her suitcase behind her. She was fully aware that she was slouching, shoulders bent forwards and head drooping like a snowdrop’s, as she tried to avoid the curious gazes of the other students.

All of them looked immaculate from head to toe — not a hair was out of place. Her braid half-falling apart, still dressed in the old green dress she’d worn on the train to Lausanne, Milda couldn’t see how she could fit in with this bunch of rich, well-groomed people.

But she had to. Her parents had saved up for months to send her here, to make sure she’d get a better life than they did. Even if learning about dancing and needlework and table manners killed her, she’d do her best. She’d work her way into owning a mansion, and her parents and all her friends would finally get to live in luxury.

Marlene stopped in front of a door labelled **12**. “This is where you will be staying,” she said. “The matron’s room is further down the hall; if you feel unwell, you may go to her. Refer to your schedule as to when you will have to go down for dinner. I trust you will not be late.”

“I won’t.” Milda’s voice cracked. “I, erm, will not be late.”

“Use this time to settle in.” Marlene pushed the door open. She managed to make even that look dainty. “I will see you this evening, Laurinaite.”

And with that, she walked away.

Struggling to pull her suitcase into the room, Milda kicked the door shut behind her. At the loud _snap_ , a squeak sounded from inside the room.

A mousy little girl was sitting at her desk, staring at her with wide blue eyes. Her platinum-blonde hair was perfectly curled, tumbling in little waves over her shoulders. She was already halfway out of her chair, as though ready to run away.

“Uh…” what was the polite, refined way to greet someone? “Hello?”

“Hello,” the girl squeaked back. “Are you a student?”

“Y-Yes, I am.” Milda began opening her suitcase, pulling out stacks of clothing. “I just arrived. What’s your name?” Was that too forward?

“My name is Evelina Galante. Yours?”

“I’m Milda Laurinaite.” She opened a drawer, placing her clothes in. She noticed her school uniform, laid out neatly on her bed. Then she looked at Evelina, who was still sitting tentatively at the edge of her seat. Did they have to shake hands?

“Nice to meet you.” Evelina went back to her book.

As her roommate was absorbed in her reading, Milda took the change to pick up her uniform. The blouse was starched pure-white, the tie a deep maroon. The skirt placed beneath it was cool to the touch, made of a smooth material she didn’t recognise. And draped over her chair was a blazer, its buttons painted gold and the school crest over the breast-pocket.

Evelina noticed her studying the uniform. “You’ll have to wear the blazer during dinner later,” she said. “If you don’t, a Prefect will give you a demerit.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “I ought to get changed quickly, then.” She picked up the articles of clothing and ducked behind her desk to get dressed. Off went the ratty, comforting green dress and in its place were the white blouse and the skirt. Milda struggled to put her tie on, hoping it looked proper enough that she wouldn’t get caught.

She slipped her blazer on last, fingering the stiff collar and the golden hems. Milda looked at herself in the mirror at the side of the room. Her stockings looked uneven, and her tie lopsided, but she looked presentable enough. Taking a deep breath, she sat down on her bed and looked around her. This was her home now. And since it was a home for only the most proper ladies and gentlemen, she’d have to act the part.


	13. Down The Runway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New names:  
> Filipa Łukasiewicz — nyo!Poland  
> Eduard Täht — Estonia

The dining hall was like nothing Milda had ever seen before.

Back in foundation school at home, the tables had been arranged in long lines and the students sat at rigid wooden benches. The moment the lunch bell rang, everyone had swarmed out of their classrooms and into the dining hall, jostling wildly for seats and laying mud-caked shoes across the bench to save seats for their friends.

But in Belchamp, Milda found herself staring at a dining hall fit for a palace, cushioned, carved chairs seated around brightly-varnished round tables, a grand chandelier hanging from the ceiling. On every plate was a neatly-folded napkin and a placard with each student’s name written with sloping cursive.

For her thirteenth birthday, Milda’s parents had taken her to the most expensive restaurant in Vilnius. The opulent chandelier, pretty chairs and bright murals were present in both places, but this hall somehow made it look a million times more beautiful.

Suddenly, Milda felt someone nudge her side. Evelina was staring at her. “Should we go find our seats?”

She nodded, the chatter and clatter of conversation and eating around her ringing in her ears. Milda steeled her nerves and stepped further into the dining hall, maneuvering around plate-holding students and clusters of friends.

A few moments of jostling and apologising later, Milda found her table by a gilded window that looked out to the school courtyard. With a sigh of relief, she found the placard “Eveline Galante” next to hers. At least she’d have a friend with her during meals.

After Evelina had arrived, the two of them took their plates and took them towards the entrance, where the cooks were serving their dinner. On the way there, Milda caught sight of a glaring brunet boy engrossed in an argument with the girl sitting next to him, as well as a triumphantly-grinning blonde getting told off by Marlene, who looked as though she was about to faint.

“That’s Gretel Beilschmidt,” Evelina said as she held her plate out to a cook. “Her younger brother Ludwig is in the second year.”

“What year are you in?”

“The first.” Evelina dodged a stray spoon that someone had thrown. “So I’m just as new as you are.”

Their table was still empty when they returned, the other two seats unoccupied. Evelina moved her placard away to put her plate down and picked up her napkin, shaking it out of its folds and placing it on her lap. Milda, taking her napkin nervously, tried to do the same.

“Don’t shake it so hard, it might get in your food.”

Realising that a corner of her napkin had ended up covered in gravy, Milda tried to fold the napkin again so that it wouldn’t get on her skirt. She finally managed to place the napkin, the dirtied corner up, on her skirt with not much trouble.

A pair of students soon approached their table, deep in conversation. A girl sat down next to Milda while still talking. Her wheat-blonde hair shone softly in the light of the chandelier, fringe held back with a painted clip; stylish bangles flashed on her porcelain-pale wrist. As she set her plate down, Milda noticed that the sleeves of her blazer had been rolled back to expose her blouse, which had been cut and printed with bright-pink patterns. She set her placard aside, and Milda could read the name “ _Filipa Łukasiewicz_ ” written on it.

“Say, Eddie,” Filipa said, “what’s our first class tomorrow? I do hope it isn’t history.”

The boy next to her, presumably Eddie, pushed his spectacles up and thought for a moment. “I’m afraid we do have history.”

“Oh, goodness.” She bit into a piece of carrot with relish, continuing,”wake me up if I fall asleep, history class is always a good time for a nap but our teacher simply doesn’t think so.”

Eddie smiled a little, nudging his placard further away from his plate. It read “ _Eduard Täht_ ”. “I shall wake you up discreetly, I don’t fancy the teacher catching me shaking you awake.”

Filipa giggled. “‘Miss Łukasiewicz,’” she mimicked, “‘you ought to be more alert! Have you no understanding of your education’s value?’”

“‘And Mister Täht, don’t you dare encourage her!’” Eduard laughed. “Why don’t you ask the Head Boy for some tea bags so you won’t doze off?”

“Like Kirkland would give up his precious tea so easily,” Filipa grumbled.

“Tell him you need the tea bags to ‘enhance your attentiveness in class and increase your productivity to become a better member of the Beaumont community’,” Evelina suddenly piped up. “I heard that Charlotte Bonnefoy once got out of trouble by making her hiding his textbooks sound really fancy.”

Filipa and Eduard turned towards Evelina. “That’s actually an excellent idea,” Filipa mused. “Thanks, Galante, I’ll be sure to try it out.” She looked past the mousy first-year, and emerald eyes fell on Milda. “Oh, good evening.”

“Good evening,” Milda returned awkwardly.

“You’re the new student, aren’t you? I don’t believe I remember your name, though.”

“My name is Milda Laurinaite,” she said, “and yes, I only arrived this afternoon.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Her eyes sparkled as she took her in. “I look forward to seeing you in class tomorrow, I’m sure you will be a natural.” Filipa suddenly looked at the floor. “Oh! Your napkin’s fell off.”

Flushing with embarrassment, Milda bent down to pick it up. A natural, indeed.


	14. In Position

Feliciano was the second to arrive in the classroom, still clutching his history textbook, and announced his arrival by slamming it onto his desk with a BANG. Ludwig, the only other person in the classroom, jumped and nearly spilled ink over his pristine white shirt. “Goodness, Feli,” he groaned. “I could’ve died of shock.”

“You won’t die, Lud, that wasn’t loud enough to break your ears. I think.” Feliciano dropped into the seat next to his friend’s and flung an arm around his shoulder. “And it wasn’t that surprising, either.”

“Ugh.”

“Aw, don’t you remember the time Gretel hid in your closet for four hours and jumped out while you were studying? That was definitely way more surprising!”

“Please don’t remind me.” Ludwig gingerly placed his inkpot back into his bag and set his fountain pen down. “I nearly broke my fountain pen that time and I think I fainted.”

“Anyway, have you done your homework? You know, the one where we have to label the pictures of good and poor posture?”

Ludwig pulled out a piece of paper, the rough drawings of a seated student labelled neatly in blue. “Have you?”

He pulled out his own worksheet, which had blots of ink all around it and displayed it proudly. “I did it during breakfast!”

“And nobody caught you?”

“Well, Kirkland almost saw me. But then his little sister threw toast at his head and he went off to yell at her.” Feliciano smoothed out his worksheet and placed his bag on the floor next to Ludwig’s. “And I think Bonnefoy was too busy trying to get into Zwingli’s pants to patrol.”

“Oh, dear.” Ludwig rubbed his temples; Feliciano’s concerningly vast knowledge for lewd terms would be the death of him one day. “I do hope she wasn’t giving him too much trouble, Zwingli can be right terrifying when he’s annoyed.”

The door swung open again, and three other people walked in. Ludwig recognised Eduard Täht and Filipa Łukasiewicz, the latter trying to balance her worksheet on her history textbook while hastily scribbling answers. “Can you read my writing?” She asked.

“Good enough.” Täht caught the cap of her fountain pen before it could fall. “Watch the nib, it’s going to leak all over the figure if you don’t hurry up.”

The girl next to Łukasiewicz hadn’t spoken up, and her eyes were trained on the ground. Her tie was only half-done, and she was picking at it as she trailed behind her classmates. She sat down at the row in front of him and Feliciano, looking at Łukasiewicz as she tackled her homework.

“Now, Milda, you don’t have to worry. Most of what is taught in etiquette foundation is easy as cake. I believe we’re just reviewing seating posture this month, so it won’t be any problem.” Łukasiewicz turned around to face Ludwig. “Beilschmidt, we are reviewing seating posture, aren’t we?”

He gestured to his worksheet. “Mm.”

“See, you’ll be all right. It really is a breeze, trust me.”

The girl had to be Milda Laurinaite, the student who’d arrived only yesterday. According to Feliciano, who somehow managed to get all the latest gossip, she’d come from Lithuania and wasn’t the daughter of anyone famous or powerful — she was just a normal schoolgirl whose parents had saved up to send her to Belchamp. That explained the tie, which looked like it'd been done by a toddler.

“What I’d give for something cold.” Feliciano loosened his tie and fanned himself, groaning. “The heat is boiling me alive!”

“It’s nearly October,” Ludwig pointed out. At the corner of his eye, he could still see Łukasiewicz scrambling to finish her homework. “It can’t be that hot.”

“For you, maybe.” He pounded his back. “My binding feels like an extra layer. I want ice cream.”

“Don’t we all?”

“I haven’t had ice cream since August!” Feliciano lamented. “I’ll go to that ice cream parlour in town this Saturday, if I don’t have ice cream soon I’m going to explode.”

Ludwig sighed and stared right ahead at the two girls sitting in front of him. Łukasiewicz had finished her homework and was drawing on a piece of scrap paper. Laurinaite was sitting stock-still and looked about ready to faint. Her shoulders were curling forward.

Feliciano leaned over to tap her on the shoulder. “Excuse me!”

Milda jumped, knocking her knee against her desk. “Y-Yes?” She asked warily.

“Your shoulders.” Feliciano tapped his own. “They’re drooping a little.”

“Oh.” She pulled them back, puffing her chest out in the process. 

“No, no, don’t pull them back like that.” He demonstrated with his shoulders. “Lift them up first.”

She hunched up her shoulders. “Like this?”

“Yes, exactly! Now pull them back, just a little.” He clapped. “Our teacher is very, very picky when it comes to how we place our shoulders. This is how she taught us to do it.”

“Oh,” Milda said again. “Thank you… er…”

“Vargas.” Feliciano gave her a winning smile. “And don’t thank me, I just did it because if Lud told you instead, he’d yell and be all scary and stuff and that’s worse.”

Goodness. Ludwig sighed, pulled Feliciano back into his seat and prayed for the teacher to arrive soon.


	15. Mary Janes and Murrells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New names:  
> Kiku Sugihara - nyo!Japan

Only a finishing school would have something as inane as a dressing class.

Before he’d received his acceptance letter to Belchamp, Harald had set his eyes on the Herlofsholm school in Denmark, which was only a day away from home. The place was four whole centuries old, had a curriculum so extensive that it’d keep him busy for years and was the alma mater of practically every scientist up north. He’d studied hard, hoping he’d be able to take the entrance exam and score himself a place.

But no, he’d been sent off to a Swiss mansion full of rich kids and snobs, forced to learn about posture and how to walk properly.

A _dressing class_! A dressing class, split by gender no less! That meant that a good number of his friends were somewhere else memorising twenty-five different types of high-heeled shoes while he was stuck with nineteen head-up-their-rear heirs learning how to tie a tie.

He could’ve been learning Arabic or the history of France had he went to Denmark.

His mother had taught him how to tie a tie exactly one way, but according to his teacher, there were a total of eighteen ways to do so. Harald’s tie was half-draping off the desk, and he stared into the spotted stand mirror on his desk in frustration. He’d already checked the four-in-hand knot off the list their teacher had assigned, leaving seventeen more knots to go. 

The next knot that the teacher was demonstrating was the half-Windsor. Squinting from his seat at the back of the classroom, Harald wound the wider end of his tie around the overlapping patch of cloth he’d made, pulled it through a loop and slipped the wide, pointy end through the slit in the knot. He observed his shirt in the mirror, grimacing at the lumpy excuse of a knot that was dangling from his collar. That definitely wouldn’t do.

The boy sitting next to Harald gave him a nudge. The teacher had moved on to the third knot. Making a mental note to ask his roommate for help after class, Harald untied the knot with a sigh and moved on.

By the time the class was over, the tip of Harald’s fingers were bruised from tying and untying his accursed tie, and the poor thing was wrinkled, too. He found his friend Abby waiting outside his classroom, her roommate Kiku standing behind her. “How was class?” She asked.

“Our teacher taught us about eighteen different ways to tie a tie, eight of which ending up looking exactly the same.” He shook his hand. “My goodness, ain’t it enough to just learn one and be done with it? Why do we need different knots for different shirts and events?”

“Tell me about it,” Abby lamented. “Why on Earth must I know the difference between a Mary Jane, a D’Orsay and a pump?” She ran a hand through her dark-brown hair. “It’s all crap, if you ask me.”

“Crap as it is, at least it helps our memory.” Harald took his timetable out of his bag. “I believe we have speech class next, right?”

“Yes, it’s right down the — “ Kiku was interrupted when Abby’s older sister walked up, looking slightly frazzled. “Oh, hello, Julia.”

“Greig, Sugihara, _do_ hurry up.” Julia stepped out of the way to dodge her fellow Prefect Marlene, who was striding down the hall as quickly as she could without actually running. “You’ve your first-years teatime in the dining hall right now.”

“Our what?” Harald repeated.

“A teatime, which is a tradition for our first-years to have every fifteenth of October. Before you ask, I have no idea why it’s a tradition, now go. And Ka Yu, please don’t pull any stunts. I think poor Yao would have a fit if they found out.” She ruffled Abby’s hair before running off.

The three first-years stared at each other. “Teatime?” Kiku said.

Abby shrugged. “It’s better than speech class.”

Harald slipped his timetable back into his bag and began walking in Julia’s direction. “You’re not wrong. Come on, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actual, total ways to tie a tie are highly disputed, since there's a knot for every occasion and for every outfit and new methods can be discovered all the time. However, it's been generally agreed that there are eighteen main ways to tie it.


	16. Gossip and Teatime

_Tink said that the shadow was in the big box. She meant the chest of drawers, and Peter jumped at the drawers, scattering their contents to the floor with both hands, as kinds toss ha’pence to the crowd. In a moment -_

Someone was knocking. Alice looked up from her book and called, “come in!”

Arthur marched in, looking grumpy and old in his checkered vest, his shiny golden Head Boy badge pinned over it. Alice went back to her book. “If I knew it was you who’d be coming in I’d have said ‘leave me be’.”

Her brother eyed her book and said, “Father would fly off the handle if he saw you readin’ _Peter Pan_.”

Alice turned the page. “Since when did we care about what Father wanted us to read?”

“That’s fair.” Arthur patted his hair down. “But put that down now. The first-years’ teatime started fifteen minutes ago, and you should be there.”

“Tell ‘em I’m sick.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake no. Come on, Alice, even if you’re dreading having to act polite, at least go for the free food.”

She snapped her book shut with a sigh. “All right. But the food better be mighty good or I’m running back here after five minutes.”

...

Arthur went back to patrolling the dining hall after sitting Alice down at her table. He hadn’t let her take her book along, so she couldn’t help fidgeting at the lacy tablecloth. Across the table, Kiku and Louis were chatting, and Charlotte popped the remainder of a crispy _canapé_ into her mouth before piping up, “Ally, why don’t you try one of these? They’re topped with some sort of cheese that has black truffles mixed in them, and they’re amazing.”

“Hmm? Oh.” Alice took one of the snacks in question right off the tea tower and ate half of it in one bite. “It tastes like dirty socks.”

Charlotte blinked. “How do you even know what that tastes like?”

“It tastes like what dirty socks smell like.” She reached for the teapot and poured some of its contents into her cup, splashing droplets of it onto the tablecloth in the process. “What else is good?”

Louis gestured to a buttery, sugar-covered biscuit on the top tier of the tower. “I made those. Give them a try, won’t you?”

Kiku was nibbling on a miniature sandwich, carefully catching breadcrumbs in the palm of her hand and dropping them onto her plate. “I thought you had to eat from the middle layer first.”

“Yes, you definitely do.”

Alice turned around. Her brother had returned to the table, arms crossed. “Come on, Alice, surely you remember what they taught in table etiquette class.”

She snorted and picked up a _vol-au-vent_ from the middle tier. “How do you eat these things anyway?”

“Use your hands, there’s a reason we serve finger foods for teatime.” Arthur swiped a chocolate from the tower. “And Charlotte, remember to pick up your saucer as well as the teacup.”

The first-year in question jumped, nearly spilling tea on her skirt as she grabbed her saucer and held it slightly below her cup. 

“Kirkland,” Kiku suddenly interjected, “the tea you chose for today is very good.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, Sugihara. But if I may ask, do you know what type of tea this is?”

“White Darjeeling.” She took another sip. “Mother once bought a crate of it, but nobody at home liked it so we finished it all ourselves. I think it’s good.”

“I shall see what other blends of tea I can show you soon.” Arthur smiled proudly and leant down to whisper in Alice’s ear. “By the way, you will simply not believe what I caught Väinämöinen writing during lunchtime.”

She grinned. “Tell me after this?”

He grinned back. “You bet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tea tower will normally have three tiers - the lowest and middle tiers for savouries and miniature sandwiches, and the top tier for sweets. Scones are often served alongside a tea tower and eaten with clotted cream and rose jam, but unfortunately I forgot to include them here. The food in a tea tower should be eaten from bottom to top, or savouries to sweets, while the scones can be eaten at any time throughout the tea. 
> 
> When drinking from a cup and saucer, regardless of the beverage, one should always hold the handle of the teacup with one hand to drink, and the saucer close beneath.


	17. Postscript

“Gretel Beilschmidt.”

A few tables away, Linnea’s loudmouthed classmate stood up and ran for the teacher, grabbing the thin envelope she held out and returning to her table just as swiftly. 

“Ludwig Beilschmidt.”

Her second-year brother rose from another table and took his letter far more quietly, much to the delight of her eardrums. Seated next to her, Tino commented, “remember when we all feared for our lives when Ludwig showed up last year?” 

“Thank goodness he’s nothing like his sister.” Linnea buttered herself another piece of toast and nibbled on it, careful not to drop any crumbs on her skirt. “Can you imagine a mini Gretel Beilschmidt?”

“Heavens help us all.” He waved back at Antonio, who flicked his head as he passed. “Ludwig’s going to be a Prefect next year, I’m sure of it. You know, he visits Marlene every week in the Prefects’ Room, sometimes with the younger Vargas in tow, and they just like hanging around and chatting.”

Linnea brushed her hands free of crumbs. “He’s not bad, that’s for sure. I caught him helping Harald with his table etiquette homework the other day.”

“Evelina Galante.”

She’d be called out to receive her mail soon. Linnea pushed out her chair, ready to stand up.

“Linnea Grieg.”

She stood up, kicked her chair away, and approached the teacher, receiving her letter with a grateful nod. The address was written in maroon ink, Maren’s favourite, and she noticed that her girlfriend had dotted all the i-s with flowers — surprisingly detailed roses, to be exact. She smiled.

While the rest of her classmates went to take their letters, Linnea wiped her butter-knife clean and used it to ease the envelope open, pulling out the sheets of paper inside. Maren had taken her time drawing the borders of the paper, surrounding her writing with beautiful maroon blossoms. The letter read:

_“My dearest Linnea,_

_“How have you been? It feels like an eternity since I last saw you, though it’s barely been two months. I still have that photograph I cut out from your yearbook last semester; I carry it around every day in my purse. Berwald rolls his eyes every time he sees me take it out, like he hasn’t done the same with Tino’s photograph. Speaking of Tino, tell him I say hello! I hope being a Prefect isn’t too stressful._

_“School is Hell, as you may expect. Not the assessments and homework, because that’s all normal, but because you’re not there with me. Imagine if we went together! We could share a dorm, but anyone who walked in might find themself interrupting something. By the way, I wrote a love poem in Literature class the other day and the teacher adored it, she probably thought I was writing it for some fellow in my class. And this might seem a tad surprising, but I wrote it for you. It’s on the third page, if the pages didn’t get mixed up. I hope you like it._

_“How is Harald doing? I know he wanted to come to Herlofsholm with me so badly, it’s such a pity he couldn’t. I sent him some of my old test papers in case he wanted to give them a try. I hope he’s made a friend or two, you know how shy he can be._

_“But enough about everyone else. I miss you so much, even your photo isn’t enough to quench my longing. Why must I settle for a grainy black-and-white image of you that doesn't even show the exact blue of your eyes and the winter’s sun-gold of your hair? I want to see you in person, cup your cheek and kiss your lips and do other things I’m not sure I can write here, and I can’t believe I have to wait until Christmas to do that._

_“I’m sure your classes are going well. You’re brilliant, my love, you can master any skill they teach at Belchamp. I imagine you’re at breakfast now, maybe sipping on coffee with no cream or sugar, just the way you like it, and holding this piece of paper as gently as you hold me. You must look as beautiful as ever. I wish I could see you in person._

_“Paper is running low, and I need some to write an essay. I wish I could talk more, in fact I want to write an entire novel about how much I missed you and mail it to you, but I can’t. These biweekly letters will have to do._

_“Until next time, I guess. But remember that until then, as I have been before and as I will always be, I am undoubtedly_

_“Your Maren._

_“P.S. I sealed this letter with a kiss. Can you feel it?”_

Linnea ran her fingers over her lips, smiling softly as she imagined Maren’s phantom kiss. She folded the letter up tenderly, sliding it back into the envelope. Sweet, silly sentimental Maren, who talked about hundreds of things at once in a single letter, who carried her photo around everywhere and sealed her letters with kisses instead of wax like they did a few decades ago. She patted her blazer pocket, where her own photo of Maren rested. 

“Sappy letter?”

Tino had returned with his mail. Linnea placed her envelope on her lap and turned to face her friend, replying, “sweet as sugar.” She sighed. “I love her so much.”

“Guess what Berwald sent me.”

“Something I assume can’t be read here.”

“Right on.” Tino waved his envelope with a grin. “Probably the reply to the letter I sent last Wednesday. Kirkland caught me writing it in the library and the poor guy nearly fainted. In hindsight, I probably should have been in my dorm.”

While he spoke, Linnea glanced down at her letter again. She traced the stiff outline of the envelope, ran her fingers along Maren’s careful handwriting. How she missed her.


	18. Showcase

“While walking, it is of utmost importance that you keep both your shoulders and hips pointing straight ahead. Ensure that your back is straight, yet relaxed - imagine a string on the top of your head pulling you upwards.”

Milda was quite sure she’d snapped that string when she stumbled for the sixth time. How could walking in a straight line be so difficult?

“Hold out your arms if you lose your balance,” the teacher called helpfully.

She did so.

“Not so much, now you look like a sick duckling!”

“Hold your core in,” Filipa advised. She’d finished her lap around the room first and without a hitch, and was now sitting on a plush velvet chair waiting for Milda to complete her task. Behind her were Eva, Feliciano, Eduard and just about the rest of the class.

Clenching her stomach, Milda tried to walk, back ramrod-straight and stiff as a board. A quarter of her way around the room and she hadn’t fallen over. Yet. She glanced back at her classmates and saw Filipa tapping on her shoulders, motioning for her to pull them back.

Her shoulders started to get sore halfway through her lap. Milda gritted her teeth and kept walking, keeping her chin parallel to the ground as the teacher instructed.

Her neck was getting sore, too. Only a quarter of the room to go. Filipa was smiling on her velvety throne.

With a relieved sigh, Milda made her way back to the group of classmates. She slumped over once the teacher left the room, massaging her shoulders. “I didn’t know I was walkin’ improperly my whole life.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Filipa adjusted the bright-pink ribbon in her hair. “I’ve done a little modelling when travelling with Pa, so it wasn’t too difficult for me.” She glanced at Eduard, asking, “Ed, what’s next?”

Eduard glanced at his schedule. “Dance.”

She groaned. “Nuts! Right after deportment?”

“My legs are going to fall _right_ off,” Eduard complained. “What type of dance do you think we’ll be covering?”

“I hope we’ll do some of that contemporary stuff.”

“Goodness, no. I want to do ballroom dancing. It’s a pity they don’t hold balls often now.”

Filipa shrugged. “What type of dance do you like, Millie?”

She started, unused to being referred to by her friend’s nickname of her. “I - I don’t really know,” she said. “I didn’t dance much back at home.”

“Well, you’ll have the chance to do so here.” Filipa linked arms with her, bangles clinking. “It’s usually very fun, I promise, it’ll only be tiring today because we just had deportment.”

They arrived at the dance studio and pushed the door open. The pianist was already rehearsing, and most of their classmates were standing by the walls. Only one boy was in the middle, jumping up and down to warm up. With every launch into the air, his white-blond locks flew.

“Looks like Plisetskiy’s showing off again,” Eduard commented as he put his bag down. “Is anybody surprised, though?” 

Plisetskiy wasn’t in any of her classes. Milda placed her bag down next to Eduard’s, inquiring, “who’s he?”

“You mean Pyotr Plisetskiy?” Filipa tied her hair up in a small ponytail. “I heard that he trained at the Imperial Russian.”

“The Imperial Russian?”

“A mighty old dance school up in Leningrad. They say it’s the best in the world.” She rolled her shoulders. “I’m not sure if it’s true, but some people also say Plisetskiy threw the most absolutely enormous fit when he was sent here. His mother paid quite the amount to hire one of the Imperial Russian’s teachers to come here and keep teaching him.”

In the middle of the room, Pyotr was still jumping. He spun once, twice, landing with a soft _thump_. His pale skin glowed softly in the light, and his gaunt midnight eyes gleamed.

Milda only realised she was staring when Feliciano sniggered behind her. “Look all you want,” he teased, “none of us are above it. All us second years have gawked at Pyotr at least once before.”

“Should I go say hello?”

Feliciano shrugged. “Go ahead. But if I must be honest, I’m a little afraid of him.”

Why, though? Milda couldn’t deny that Pyotr looked like quite the ice prince, but he must have picked up on some of that Belchamp charm that everyone else had. She went to the middle of the room, soft-cotton shoes padding softly against varnished wood.

Up close, Pyotr looked even paler, as though he was made out of porcelain instead of flesh and bone. She took care not to get any closer, lest he hit her with his moving arms. Milda waited until he was finished with another series of stunning jumps before stepping forward. “Good afternoon.”

Pyotr stopped before he could start his practice again. “And who are you?” He asked none-too-politely. 

“M-My name is Milda Laurinaite. Er, I only arrived here two weeks ago, so that’s why we haven’t met before.” Did her protocol teacher say it was all right for ladies to initiate handshakes? Well, no turning back now. She held out her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Pyotr stared at her outstretched palm with something that looked painfully like contempt. “Is that it?”

“Pardon?” She’d learned that asking “what” was not polite enough.

“Did you interrupt me just to say hello?”

She tried not to wince at his harsh tone. “Well, since - since we’ve never met before, I thought we could be introduced to each other.”

“Well, I do not wish to know you.” He turned away. “Now piss off.”

The vulgarity delivered with such nonchalance sent Milda back to the side of the room, stunned. Filipa was waiting there with a wry smile. “Feliciano was right,” she said. “I didn’t think Pyotr would be so prickly.”

“Well, he _did_ warn you.” Filipa slung an arm around her. “I have good news, though. I took a peek at the teacher’s notes, and we won’t be moving around today. Our feet will thank us for that.”


	19. Clutched

Right after he was done with his homework, Louis turned around and looked at Roland, who had his back turned to him. He could still hear the scratch of his pen against his worksheet. 

“Ro?”

He set his fountain pen down. “What is it?”

“I saw your sister walking with Zwingli yesterday,” he said. “It wasn’t really that much of an issue, but then _my_ sister went up to them and started talking to Zwingli. Then Eva got all prickly and left. So, uh, I just want to know if she’s all right.”

Roland slid his homework to the side of his desk and got up. “By your sister, d’you mean Charlotte or Fleur?”

“Fleur.”

He sat down on his bed. “Well, that explains it.”

Louis began tidying up the mess of scrap paper on his bed, asking, “what do you mean?”

“I only know this ‘cause Eva’s my sister, but apparently it was big news last year before we arrived. She and Bonnefoy were caught doing something explicit in the kitchens. And by explicit, I mean way explicit.”

“Oh.” He had heard rumours that Fleur got into relationship after relationship at Belchamp. “And I’m guessing that Fleur left her some time after?”

“Precisely.” Roland kicked his shoes off so he could put his legs on his bed, and hugged his pillow. “I don’t mean to offend, really, but your sister sort of ruined Eva’s reputation. Suddenly, instead of just being Eva, she was ‘another of Bonnefoy’s past flings’. Not very nice.”

“Oh,” Louis said again.

He continued, “if Fleur’s talkin’ to Zwingli, I wonder if she’s going after her next.” Roland shook his head. “Gosh, I hope not. Zwingli’s a total angel, I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Louis took his cardigan from his rumpled, messy bed and slipped it on. A cold breeze was blowing in from the open window. “I ought to have a talk with her. Fleur, I mean,” he added afterwards. “The chances of her actually listening to me are close to none, but I’ll try to get some sense into her.”

...

The only time Louis had lessons with Fleur was during their extra cooking lessons, where a number of students from the first through fourth years gathered in the kitchen to prepare the rest of the school’s afternoon tea.

It was just his luck that both he and his sister were assigned to the same table, where they had to prepare one hundred tart shells in an hour. While mixing together massive bowls of the shortcrust pastry, he asked, “why do we have to do this? It’s not like the entire school comes down to eat.”

Fleur smiled indulgently. “Teatimes at five are a school tradition, Louis. Even if just one person comes down for it, we have to uphold it. And, we get to have the delicious leftovers.”

She wasn’t wrong. The mouthwatering smell of melting butter was wafting across the kitchen from the stove, he could already taste the delicious shortbread they’d be mixed into. “By the way, I mean to ask you something about my classmates.”

“What is it? Do they need help with homework?”

Louis took a deep breath. “No. But yesterday, I saw you go up to talk with Erika Zwingli while she was with De Vries. And my roommate thinks you’re planning to go after Zwingli like you did lots of other people.” He crushed a cold chunk of butter between his fingertips. “I don’t think you should.”

She turned to him, smile gone. “I’m not trying to go after Erika. She’s a first-year, just like you.”

“That didn’t stop you from doing whatever you did with De Vries last year.”

“That’s not - “ Fleur gritted her teeth. “Never mind. I’m not going to try anything with Erika, I promise. My eyes are on her brother.”

His hand jolted, sending a spray of yellow crumbs over the rim of the bowl. “What?” He almost shouted.

“You heard me,” she said firmly. She’d already finished her bowl of pastry and was now rolling it out on the cold countertop. “Now stop your chatter and let’s work.”

Silently fuming, Louis held his tongue and kept mixing. At least his classmate was out of danger for now.


	20. Impromptu Tutors

Julia had no intention to play governess. 

It would’ve been so much more relaxing to patrol the school and actually get some fresh air instead of being holed up in the musty Prefects’ Room with a pair of first years, but alas, there was a hierarchy even within the Prefects and she had been kicked to the bottom of it. Julia pinched the bridge of her nose as she wove around a group of second-years, trailed by her sister and one of her friends.

“So tell me,” she attempted, “what have you been learning?”

Abby snorted. “Damn if I know.”

“Shh!” Julia elbowed her in the ribs. “Yao would have a stroke if they heard you.”

“Well, they aren’t here, so I can say whatever the hell I want — “

“We just covered handshakes in international protocol,” Charlotte interrupted, glancing between the two of them. “And next week we will start on presence.”

“And what are you two having trouble with?” Julia turned a corner and dodged a punch of salutation from Gretel. 

Charlotte replied, “well, in preparation for our lessons next week our teacher told us to practice projecting our voices, which I cannot do. And Abby refuses to admit it but she is utterly hopeless at dress class.”

“Hey!”

“Well, I expected that.” Julia stopped in front of the entrance of the Prefects’ Room. “Now, before you enter, _do_ remember to stay quiet and disciplined. I doubt we will be the only ones in the room.” She was about to open the door when she saw someone standing behind her.

Linnea was waiting behind the pair of first-years, her hand on the shoulder of a boy who must’ve been her brother, Harald. She was tapping her foot impatiently, face the frigid mask of indifference it was often set into. Harald, on the other hand, was staring at the floor and looked absolutely mortified.

“May I help you?”

She nodded curtly, looking down to gently push Harald forwards. He just came short of slamming into Charlotte. After another nudge from Linnea, he said, all in a rush, “I’mhavingtroublewithclassestoodoyoumindhelpingmewithsomehomework?”

“Normally, I would do my job and help him, but I have a design test that I have put off preparing for too long,” Linnea explained. “I hope you don’t mind taking on another first-year for the afternoon.”

Well, nothing to lose. Julia forced a smile. “Of course. Good luck studying.”

“Thank you.” With that, she left Harald standing with his classmates and went off.

She pinched the bridge of her nose again and pushed the door open. “Come on in, you three.”

To her surprise, Marlene was sitting at the squashy sofa in the middle of the room, carefully balancing a thick encyclopaedia on her lap and looking at the worksheet on top of it. Next to her was Erika, who was opening and closing a fan nervously. 

“’Yes’.”

Erika tapped her right cheek with the fan.

“’No’.” 

Erika tapped her left. 

“’I’m sorry’.” Marlene checked off the two former codes, nodding approvingly.

She drew her fan across her eyes. 

“You can open it halfway if you wish, that’s correct also.” She turned the worksheet over. “Now, tell me how to request a conversation.”

Without hesitation, she touched the tip of her fan. 

Smiling, Marlene remarked, “very good. Lastly, how do you tell someone to wait for you?”

She flicked her fan open with her right hand. 

“Excellent.” She handed Erika the worksheet. “I believe that is all that was covered in your dress class today. Is there anything else you need help with?”

Julia cleared her throat. “Marlene?”

She turned around.

“These three here need help with their work, too.”

“Don’t talk about us like we ain’t here,” Abby grouched.

“Mind if we sit here?” Julia made her way towards the sofa and sat down next to her fellow Prefect.

“You _do_ know we’re here, right?” Abby continued.

Marlene shifted to let them sit down. “Ask away,” she told the newcomers. “We have two hours until teatime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no specific hand in which to hold a fan to tell someone to wait for oneself, Erika is using her right hand here simply because it's her dominant hand. So the left hand is acceptable for this gesture, too - something to keep in mind should one ever need to communicate with a fan. :P
> 
> (Sorry for the bad and delayed chapter, I'm going through some awful writer's block and everything I'm writing is awful rn)


	21. Teatimes At Five

By the time Milda had deigned to stand up, it was nearly five o’clock. She stretched, diagrams of table settings swimming before her. “Goodness gracious, I never knew so many types of forks existed!”

“But of course they do!” Filipa was seated on the back of a plush armchair, having replaced her usual pink bow for a white one courtesy of Eva. They were both in the girls’ common room, poring over their dining class homework before the lesson tomorrow. “Don’t you see that we have two forks every dinner?”

“Well, I thought the other one was an extra.” She fiddled with her tie. “Back at home, we didn’t have salad forks, soup spoons, fish knives or anything of that sort! All we had were six sets of forks, spoons and knives, and that was it.”

Filipa giggled, “oh my, now that makes me rather ashamed. Millie, you would not be able to guess just how many sets of cutlery I have!”

Milda tapped her chin. “Well, my parents and I were better off and had six. So I think your father and you would have fifteen.”

She collapsed into peals of laughter. “No!”

“Twenty?”

“Still no.”

“Twenty-five?”

“Hardly!”

“Oh, I give up. How many sets of cutlery does your family have?”

She collapsed into peals of laughter. “ _Seventy-eight!_ ”

“Seventy-eight!?” Milda repeated. “What do you do with that?”

“I don’t know!” Filipa almost fell off her chair, cheeks pink as she laughed. “But we had one hundred before Pa sold some to travel. Can’t say I was sad to see them go.”

The door swung open and a boy, a fourth-year by the looks of it, stepped in. He was wearing his neatly-pressed blazer even though it wasn’t dinner yet, and his tie was perfectly knotted in a full Windsor knot. She noticed that he was wearing a golden badge.

Filipa waved. “Hello, Kirkland.”

He nodded, returning, “good afternoon, Łukasiewicz. Have you by any chance seen my sister?”

“You mean Alice?” She pointed to the corner of the room, where a group of first-years were hunched over a coffee table. “Why, she’s right over there.”

Kirkland straightened up. “Thank you.” He strode towards the table and tapped a blonde girl, presumably Alice, on the shoulder. 

She straightened up and glared. “What?”

“Come on, we have to go for tea.”

“I’ll go later with my friends,” Alice grumbled, “going with you would ruin the taste of everythin’, and that would simply be a waste of everyone’s work.”

He tugged her arm. “Fleur is cooking today. Don’t you want to say hello to her?”

“I can do that without you, Arthur!” She stuck out her tongue at him. “I’ll go down with Charlotte later on. Now go away.”

Arthur sighed, adjusting his tie, and left the common room. Milda watched as he shut the door quietly behind him and asked, “we have tea?”

“Well, most certainly. You can’t expect us to starve from lunch ‘til dinner, can you?”

“And we don’t have to pay extra for it?”

“Not at all!” Filipa jumped off her armchair with a clump. “Do you want to go today?”

She was already halfway to the door. “I ain’t passin’ down free food.”

...

The dining hall wasn’t as crowded as they expected. A pair of siblings were sipping tea at a table by the window, and Eva was sharing cake with a first-year. Filipa gestured to a table by the kitchen, where a grand spread of finger foods was waiting. “Go get what you want. I’m going to go to the kitchens and asking for a drink.”

She picked up a plate and took her food, then sat down. Her friend left the kitchen soon after, holding two steaming cups of tea. “Can’t believe Bonnefoy let me into the Prefects’ own stash of tea,” she said smugly. “Why, I thought I would have to steal it myself!”

Milda stared at the fork and spoon in front of her. “These are the dessert cutlery, right?”

“Precisely.” Filipa picked up her fork. “Note how the spoon points to the left, and the fork to the right.”

They began to eat, breaking the easy silence that settled between them a few times only to comment on the food. Milda noticed that Filipa had a smudge of whipped cream on her cheek, and smiled.

A few minutes before six o’clock, the kitchen door swung open and two people stepped out. Both were wearing dough-smudged aprons, stripping them off before turning to the table of food. The shorter boy was glowering, muttering something to the girl next to him. Filipa watched them with rapt attention. “Oh look, Bonnefoy’s done.”

“Who?”

“Fleur Bonnefoy.” She dipped a biscuit into her tea. “You know, the Head Girl? That lad next to her’s Louis, her brother.”

“They don’t look very happy,” Milda observed.

Fleur took a chocolate tart and sailed away, completely ignoring Louis, who was still chattering behind her. She walked towards Eva’s table, where she and the first-year were laughing over something. “Good afternoon, Erika.”

Erika looked up and smiled at her. “Hello, Fleur!”

Next to her, Eva had stopped smiling, and was staring blankly at her plate. She didn’t chime in to Erika and Fleur’s conversation — in fact, her usual, cheerful self seemed to have died suddenly.

“Oh, Millie, don’t you know it’s unbecoming to eavesdrop?” Filipa cut in. “I know it is _quite intriguing_ , but to be caught would be awful.”

“Do you think we should talk to Eva?”

“No, most definitely not.” She popped a chunk of cake into her mouth, airily commenting, “Leave her be. The least we can do is forget this happened.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The salad fork is the smallest of all the forks used in formal dining and is placed next to the dinner fork, farthest away from the plate on the left side. 
> 
> The soup spoon is rounder than the typical dinner spoon and is placed between the dinner spoon and seafood fork respectively, second-farthest from the plate on the right side. 
> 
> The fish knife has a slightly tapered, but still slightly round tip, and not usually seen in a table setting. If it is, though, it is located in between the meat knife and the dinner spoon, and is third-closest to the place on the right side.
> 
> The dessert fork and spoon are always placed above the plate, and as Filipa said, the spoon must point leftwards, and the fork rightwards. There's no specification on which one should be on top, as long as they're facing in those directions. Note that the dessert fork should be used for most desserts, while the dessert spoon only for puddings, sweet soups or ice cream.


	22. Descent

Ever since her arrival at Belchamp, Milda had already resigned herself to the fact that she’d been doing everything wrong. Apparently, the way she’d learned to sit, walk, eat and even breathe the past fourteen years simply weren’t refined enough. 

So it didn’t surprise her when she was told that she’d been walking up and down staircases wrong, too. 

Her last deportment class had ended in disaster, with her teacher declaring that the way she took the stairs was “frighteningly common”. “Like a troll lumbering through the forest in search of something to destroy!” Her teacher had lamented.

At least she wasn’t the only one having trouble - Evelina apparently looked like she was bouncing when walking down staircases. To help them deal with their disastrous walking, Eduard had established himself as the two’s deportment tutor, and lead them to the grand staircase at the entrance to the school building to practice.

“If you must, grasp the railings gently,” he instructed. “Do not put too much weight on them.” He rushed towards Milda and inspected her grip. “Don’t wrap your fingers around the railing like you’re squeezing it, just rest all five fingers on top of it lightly.”

She groaned, adjusting her grip on the rail. “Why do you folks pay attention to every little detail?”

“You’re still holding it too tightly!”

“Oh my goodness, of course I am.” Milda relaxed her arm until she was barely touching the rail. 

“Yes, that’s better.” Eduard clapped his hands. “Now, the hard part is actually walking down. You step with only your tiptoes, one after the other in a single, fluid move. Bend your knees slightly and make sure that your hips remain level.”

Evelina took her first few steps down the stairs, eyebrows knitted in concentration. Her knees were knocking together. Milda did the same. It was surprisingly difficult to only use her tiptoes, and her legs started to hurt only halfway down.

“Say, that actually isn’t bad.” He demonstrated walking down the entire staircase, then walked back up. “It took me nearly all of last year to figure out how to do it right, so you two are much better than me. You should see Edelstein do it! She looks like she’s gliding down the stairs.”

“I ought to look at her when she walks around,” Evelina piped up. “Edelstein always looks so ghost-like, don’t you think? She looks like she came right out of the eighteenth century.”

“Speaking of Edelstein...” Eduard looked at his watch. “Apparently she had to go to some sort of Prefects’ meeting today, so I have to go play for Plisetskiy’s lessons.” He began walking towards the dance studio, leaving Milda and Evelina to trail behind him.

“I never knew you could play the piano,” Milda said.

“I’m nowhere near as good as Edelstein, of course, but I get by. If working at my mother’s factory doesn’t work out, I think I will become a pianist. Or a singer, that would be nice too.” He pushed the door of the studio open, and the three of them crept in. 

Pyotr was stretching at the side of the room. Eduard made his way to the piano at the corner and began to warm up, fingers flying over the keys lightning-fast. Staring at both of them with rapt attention, Evelina sat down and watched.

Pyotr raised his leg in front of him, lifting it higher and higher than Milda thought possible. He did the same behind him, arching his back to show off a stunning _arabesque_. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Before she could stop herself, she put on her best smile and approached him.

He narrowed his eyes at her, rising on tiptoes to continue his stretching. “It’s you again.”

“Yes,” she replied, “it’s me again. Er, good afternoon.”

“Why do you insist on interrupting me while I’m practising? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“I thought you might want to talk, that’s all.” His eyes seemed to be boring holes through her. “Since, uh, your lesson hasn’t started yet.”

“Well,” Pyotr hissed icily, “like I told you before, I have no intention to have any sort of conversation with you.” He lifted his leg up to the side, nearly colliding with Milda. She had no doubts that he’d actually kick her if she stuck around, so she went to sit next to Evelina.

The first-year was still looking at Pyotr, stretching away as if their brief interaction hadn’t happened. “Does he talk like that to everyone?”

“I don’t know.” Milda tucked her legs up to her chest. “He’s only in my dance class, and even then he never talks to anyone. I think my classmates have all given up on trying to be friends with him.”

“Well, if he’s this prickly, I can see why,” Evelina said. “Thank goodness he isn’t in my year. I’d be scared to death if I had to go to class with him every day!”


	23. Chin Up, Chest Out

Katherine knew that nothing good would come out of her room door banging open.

Most of the time it was Antonio, who would try and ask her if she could copy her homework, sometimes it was Anya, who forgot which room she was in occasionally, and even rarer still it was Sandor, who barged in to provide her with gossip she really didn't care about. But once in a blue moon, the person who would make his annoying presence known to her room was...

"Kate!”

That was the only warning she got before Feliciano whooshed into the dorm room like a mini-tornado. He rushed past her desk and flopped on her bed, immediately making himself comfortable. "How is my dear sister today?"

She sighed. "What do you want?"

Feliciano rolled over and hung his head over the side of the bed. "Nothing. Ain't it enough to just want to check on you?"

"Let me guess, you need help studying."

"Oh, Kate, our winter exams are next week and I fear I am going to fail! All the things we've learnt are so much more difficult than last year."

"Of course, I believe that's how school works."

He waved his arms and pouted. "You're so mean to me! Why don't you take pity on your silly little brother who hasn't a clue of what he's doing?"

"At least you got the 'silly' part right," Katherine muttered. "Why don't you get your classmates to help you? I'm having a right difficult time preparing for my exams too, for your information."

"Because it's more fun to bother you."

She snorted. "Right. I forget that you can be a little pest sometimes. What are you having problems with?"

"Deportment is soooo difficult, I tell you," Feliciano complained. He rolled himself back over and stood up. "It's impossible to remember how to move properly!"

"Okay, okay, stop your whinging. Stand properly, in the way your teacher taught you."

Feliciano screwed his face up in concentration as he straightened his back and puffed his chest out slightly. Katherina watched, eyes narrowed, as she tried to recall every last detail her own lessons had taught her when she was in the second year. "Your chin should be almost parallel with the ground," she called.

He raised his chin slightly and clasped his hands at the small of his back, low enough that it wouldn't look rigid. She nodded. "Good, good. I see you have bothered to listen in class. Now how do you position your feet?"

His eyes lit up as he got to work on that. One foot was put in front of the other, both turned out slightly. "I feel like a mannequin in a clothing store."

"That means you're doing something right." Katherine pulled her roommate's chair out from beneath her desk. "Now demonstrate the proper sitting position."

He sat down at the chair, back straight, and crossed his legs. "There."

"Slant your legs."

He did so, tilting his legs until they formed the perfect Sussex Slant. 

"If it tires you too much, you can do the Cambridge Cross instead." She demonstrated it, crossing her legs neatly at the ankle. "I can tell you're too tired to do much more, so just tell me how one walks properly."

"Chin parallel to the ground, chest lifted and the hips facing forward," Feliciano recited, "lead with the thighs and set the ankle down first."

"Correct. Now, remember all that during your practical exam. You second-years have it lucky. My year has to do the practical and theory exams at the same time! You can slouch and drag your feet and shift your weight during your theory paper all you want, but we get tested on how we stand while receiving our scripts, our posture while we're working and how we walk to hand the exams in."

"Sounds difficult."

"It is." Katherine crossed her arms. "Now, anything else you want to go over?"

"Not really. And I promised Ludwig I'd be off to teatime with him." Feliciano stood up with a smile and threw his arms around his sister. "Thanks, Kate!"

She halfheartedly pushed him off, trying to hide her smile. "You're welcome. And don't touch me."

He traipsed out of the room. Katherine let herself smile, and went back to doing her homework.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are four main seating positions used by those in high society - the Queen's Position, Duchess Slant, Cambridge Cross and Sussex Slant. The Queen's Position (it usually doesn't have a name, but I believe this is what it's officially called) involves having the knees and ankles together, feet flat on the ground. The Duchess Slant is the Queen's Position with the lower leg slanted at an angle. The Cambridge Cross is the Queen's Position with the legs crossed at the ankles, and the Sussex Slant involves crossed legs slanted at an angle like the Duchess Slant.
> 
> (I realise now that there's a real etiquette school in London named Beaumont, so I'll be changing this school name and the setting shortly. It won't affect much and it's not like Beaumont Etiquette is going to sue a Hetalia fanfic for using their name but I'm embarrassed so I'm doing it anyways uwu)

**Author's Note:**

> To ask questions to the characters, go on drowning-in-dennor or hanas-helltalia-house on Tumblr, and they will be answered here.


End file.
